


More Than Skin Deep

by serenityabrin



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU Exchange Treat, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe Exchange 2018, Fëanor Lives, Incest, M/M, Tattoos, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 06:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15925088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityabrin/pseuds/serenityabrin
Summary: Tattoos are an important cultural tradition among the people of Hador.  Hador is especially skilled in the art, and Fëanor will only have the best when he decides to get his own tattoo.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



"Is that new?"

In the process of reaching for another slice of bread, Hador paused to see what Fingolfin was talking about.  On the other side of Hador, Fëanor also looked curious.  Fingolfin pointed to Hador's wrist where a tattoo could be seen peeking out from under his shirt.

"It is."  Grabbing the bread, Hador quickly put it on his plate and pulled up his sleeve so Fingolfin could see it.  Fingolfin took Hador's wrist in his own hand, studying the new tattoo.

It was a solid ban of dark blue save for a gap right at the back of the wrist.  In that gap was a little symbol of three straight lines that Fingolfin knew well.  He gave Hador an alarmed look.

"I didn't know your wrist was troubling you so much," he said.

Hador looked a little chagrinned.  "Maybe not so that a healing stamp was necessary but I do get the occasional twinge from all the writing you Elves demand."

He said it lightly, throwing an amused look towards Fëanor, who was always insisting that Hador write down more of his people's history and lore, and preserve their traditions in the written word Fëanor loved so much.

Fingolfin let his thumb slide over the healing stamp.  Apparently seeing something in his expression, Hador quickly added, "Gundor did it.  The practice is good for him."

"I see," Fingolfin said.  He was aware that Gundor had followed his father into the healing trade, and was learning the tattooing art.  Neither of Hador's older children had shown the talent for it so Hador was very excited with Gundor's progress.

But Fingolfin also knew that healing tattoos were sacred to Hador's people.  He would not get a stamp -- even for the sake of helping his son -- if there wasn't an underlying need.

Fingolfin felt a twinge at that.  Any sign of Hador slowing down reminded him too much of his lover's mortality.

There was nothing to be done about that, though, so he kissed Hador's wrist before releasing him.

Hador smiled before grabbing his knife to spread jam on the slice of bread.

Into the ensuing silence, Fëanor quietly cleared his throat.  When both Hador and Fingolfin looked at him, he said, "Speaking of tattoos, I was hoping to partake in your services, Hador."

"You were?" Hador's surprise echoed Fingolfin's own.

Fëanor nodded, expression unreadable.  "Indeed, I was thinking of getting something rather extensive."

"Really?" Hador's tone turned speculative.  It wasn't every day that he got to tattoo an Elf after all.  Tattooing was still an exotic concept to the Noldor.

For that reason, Fingolfin boggled at the very notion.  "Since when do you want a tattoo?"

"Are you objecting?" Fëanor asked, studying his brother as he calmly sipped from his glass.  "I've never heard you complaining about Hador's tattoos."

Fingolfin flushed.  His brother knew full well how fascinated he was by the many symbols and images adorning Hador's body and the general tattooing culture of his people.  There was always a little thrill when Hador peeled off his shirt at night, and Fingolfin could trace the different patterns on his skin.

They had never talked about it, but Fingolfin thought his brother shared his fascination.  He had never considered getting a tattoo of his own though.

"Is there something wrong?" Hador inquired.

Shaking his head, Fëanor said, "I don't need a healing stamp, if that's what you are asking."

Hador asked, "Then what did you have in mind?"

Fëanor set his glass down and folded his hands in his lap.  "I don't have a specific design.  I have . . . an intention I wish to convey.  So long as the intention comes across, you may choose whatever design seems best to you."

If the idea of Fëanor getting a tattoo at all was surprising, the idea that he would let someone else decide what would permanently grace his body completely shocked Fingolfin.

Hador glanced at him, clearly feeling just as surprised.  He offered a little disbelieving chuckle.  "That's quite the dangerous proposition.  What if I decide to tattoo my name on you?"

"If that conveys my intention, so be it," Fëanor said, voice completely neutral.

"Are you serious?" Fingolfin asked.  "You can't be serious."

Before Fëanor could answer, there was a hasty knock of the door, which opened before Fëanor could give leave.  Fingon strode in with a letter in his hand.  "A messenger has just arrived from Maedhros."

"Give it here," Fëanor demanded, although Fingon was already in the process of handing the letter over.

Fëanor tore open the seal, immediately engrossed in whatever word his son had sent from Himring. 

While they waited for news, Fingolfin turned his attention to his son.  "Have you eaten?"

Fingon nodded, but he did take the seat Fingolfin gestured to him. 

It was only a minute more before Fëanor looked up, eyes locking with Fingolfin.  "Maedhros sends news that he has managed to arrange a summit with the Dwarves.  He asks for support.  He thinks that a high ranking official from my court would send a good message to the Dwarves."

"And you want me to go," Fingolfin surmised.

Fëanor's lips twitched in what might have been a grimace or a smile.  "Well, you certainly don't want _me_ to go."

Fingolfin wasn't sure how to react to that.  No one was more persuasive than Fëanor when he set his mind to something.  But he had been very circumspect about such speech since the understanding they had reached at Linaewen.  Fingolfin wished he knew what his brother was thinking, but he didn't dare ask.

Fëanor did not wait for Fingolfin to respond.  Touching the letter, he said, "Maedhros has set the meeting for a year from now so we have time to plan how best to approach the Dwarves to win their support."

"In that case," Hador said, wiping his mouth with his napkin and setting it down on his now empty plate. "I think I shall take my leave."

Fëanor frowned, reaching out to grab Hador's arm.  "You needn't leave.  Whatever I have to say is open to you.  You have my trust.  I keep no secrets from you."

Hador smiled.  "I _needn't_ leave.  I _get_ to leave.  I can't think of anything more boring than planning negotiations."  He took the hand on his arm and kissed the palm.  "Besides, I have your new tattoo to consider."

Fëanor didn't look happy but he did look appeased.  "We'll discuss that later," he said.

Standing, Hador offered Fingolfin a kiss before departing.

"What tattoo?" Fingon asked.

Fëanor just shook his head, and did not answer.  Their attention returned to Maedhros' letter, and Fingolfin forgot all about the tattoo.


	2. Chapter 2

Two weeks later, Fingolfin was sitting in bed reading a missive from Finrod on Dwarven customs when Hador set a box on the table beside him.  Opening it, Hador began to carefully take out several small instruments and jars of ink.

Eyes snapping from the box, Fingolfin found Fëanor shrugging out of his shirt on the other side of the bed.

"You really were serious?" Fingolfin asked, surprised all over again.

"Of course I was serious," Fëanor said, sitting on the bed to wait for Hador to be ready.

Fingolfin set his reading aside to give his full attention to his brother.  "I . . . This just seems sudden."

"It's not.  I've been thinking about it for some time," Fëanor said.

"We have been discussing it," Hador added, coming around to Fëanor's side of the bed with all his equipment and inks on a board.  Fingolfin watched as Hador set the board down on a little stand and pulled up a chair.  "I shared your surprise, my lord.  Even among my people, letting the artist decide on the design is rare."

Fingolfin's eyebrows shot up.  He looked at Hador's equipment and noted there wasn't anything that appeared to be a design among the things on Hador's board.  If Fëanor was really going to get a tattoo, Fingolfin was sure he would draw the image he wanted himself to make sure it was perfect.

Turning his attention back to his brother, Fingolfin cautiously said, "This seems very unlike you."

Tone neutral, Fëanor replied, "I have never seen anything of Hador's art that I have not liked.   When he is not shackled by the necessities of healing, his art is unlike anything Elves make.  I want to see what he can make when there are no constraints on him.   I am confident that anything he creates will be something I would be proud to carry on my skin."

"I hope I can do justice to your faith in me," Hador said with a smile.  "Why don't you get comfortable?"

Reclining beside Fingolfin, Fëanor said, "We won't disturb you, will we?"

Fingolfin shook his head, having a million things he wanted to ask but finding he couldn't voice any of them.  The whole thing seemed surreal.

He watched as Hador gently cleaned Fëanor shoulder and then reach for a needle.

"Last chance to back out," Hador said with a smile.

Fëanor answered with an unimpressed look, which made Hador's smile widen.  Selecting a needle, he dipped it in ink and then proceeded to begin tattooing Fëanor's shoulder.

From where Fingolfin was sitting, he really couldn't see what Hador was doing.  Hador bent over Fëanor's shoulder, an intense look of concentration drawing his brows together.  He shifted between the different needles on his board and the various inks, favoring the darkest blue the most.  It was the most common color for tattoos among Hador's people, which Fingolfin knew was because of how abundant the plant producing it was.  Fingolfin always associates the color with Hador's people, and seeing it being applied to his brother felt a little like Hador was indeed marking Fëanor as his.

When Fingolfin turned his head to look at his brother, he found Fëanor's attention glued to Hador's face.  Fingolfin wondered what his brother was thinking.  He didn't seem to have any doubts but his expression was hard to read.

The process was quiet, and Fingolfin eventually went back to Finrod's missive.  He did have to know about Dwarves if he hoped the summit would go well.  But his eyes kept straying over to Fëanor and Hador.

This wasn't the first time Fingolfin had seen Hador applying ink, but it wasn't a common occurrence either.  Hador's people had sacred tattoos -- like their healing stamps and good luck marks -- but they had decorative art too.  It still adhered to a strict aesthetic that Fingolfin did not fully understand.  He was curious what Hador would create for an Elf who had no need for that precise ceremonial art.  He wondered if Hador would create something new and experimental or if he would keep to the familiar aesthetic that he was so skilled in.

Applying a sacred tattoo had a ritualistic aspect to it that was not evident now.  Indeed, when Hador finally saw how Fëanor watched him, he smiled and carefully leaned over to give him a quick kiss.

The quiet was soothing.  Fingolfin couldn't remember the last time the three of them were together without any word, not unless things were awkward between Fingolfin and Fëanor, and Hador was too tired to try to navigate that.

Hador worked steadily for three hours before finally sitting back and saying, "I think that's enough for today."

"You can continue if you please," Fëanor said.  "It's no trouble."

Hador smiled, grabbing a clean cloth to clean the needle he was holding.  "No trouble for you to lie there, but if I continue, I might start to make mistakes.  Best to give it a rest for a day or two.  This isn't going to be completed in a day."

Setting Finrod's missive aside again, Fingolfin did not disguise his curiosity as both Elves looked at Fëanor's shoulder.

Technically, what was there was very detailed with shading and intricate lines.  But what the overall picture would end up being wasn't evident yet.  Hador did not work with pre-painted outlines -- a fact Fingolfin had heard praised from those who apparently knew better -- which was currently a source of disappointment.

Hador laughed when he saw their faces.  "You'll just have to wait awhile to see the final picture."

"Longer for Fingolfin than me," Fëanor noted.  When Fingolfin gave him a questioning look, Fëanor said, "You will have to leave soon if you are to arrive in time for Maedhros' summit.  I'm sure he will wish to confer with you before the Dwarves arrive."

Fingolfin sighed, since it was true.  He wasn't looking forward to this mission.  Maedhros was not nearby, which meant Fingolfin would be absent from home for much longer than he wanted.

"Did Finrod offer anything of value?" Fëanor asked.

Fingolfin said, "There were a few helpful hints to avoid unintended insult, although the general tenor of his missive suggests we will have ample opportunity to find new ones as yet undiscovered, which doesn't bode well."

As Fëanor and Fingolfin were once again drawn into a conversation about Dwarven politics, Hador quietly packed away his equipment.


	3. Chapter 3

Galloping up to the portcullis, Fingolfin waited impatiently for the gate to rise.  His year away had felt much longer, and he was anxious to be home.

He had left his retinue back at the last rest stop, using the excuse that he had to report to the King to explain his haste.  For this reason, he did not expect a welcoming party, but he was delighted to see Lalwen on the steps when he rode up to them.

"Well met, brother," she said, waiting for him to dismount.

"And you, sister."  As soon as his feet touched the ground, he swung Lalwen up in a hug.  She laughed, which delighted him.

"We did not expect you so soon.  Did you race the whole way home?" she asked when he set her down.

Handing the reins to his horse to a passing page, Fingolfin said, "The _whole_ way home may be exaggerating, but I certainly didn't tarry."

Lalwen laughed again.  "And I can guess the cause of your haste.  Someone you fancy to see?"

Fingolfin smiled.  "You are indeed a delight to my eyes."

His answer made her chuckle.  "Go on then.  Fëanor is in his smithy.  I'm sure I can find Hador wherever he is hid."

"I would appreciate that, sister." Fingolfin gave her another hug, genuine in his happiness to see her, and then turned towards his brother's smithy.

When he arrived there, he paused just at the top of the staircase leading down to his brother's domain.  It always felt a little odd to him that he was allowed here.  Fëanor had never let him anywhere near his home back in Valinor, and he was equally cantankerous about who was and was not allowed in his personal smithy here.

Fingolfin had leave to come and go, but it always felt to him like he was entering forbidden territory.

Shaking his head at himself, Fingolfin descended the stairs.  When he saw his brother in the middle of shaping a piece of metal, he waited on the last step for an opportune moment to announce his presence so that he did not accidentally cause Fëanor to damage his work.

It gave Fingolfin a few minutes to observe his brother.  Fëanor was dressed simply in a thin white shirt and dark leggings, a thick leather apron over his clothes.  His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, and his hair was tied back in a long plate falling down his back.

His focus was absolute as he worked.  Fingolfin had no idea what he was making.  Whenever he had the opportunity to visit his brother here, Fëanor was all he paid attention to.  That was how he knew that Fëanor did not even pause to wipe his brow until he was at a stopping point.  So, when he did just that, Fingolfin rapped his knuckles against the wall to announce his presence.

Fëanor turned, looking surprised to see him.  "You're back."

"I am," Fingolfin said, finally approaching his brother.  "I've come to report.  Your sons are well, and send their regards.  As for the summit, it wasn't a failure but I do not feel you will be pleased with what I have to relay."

"Then it can wait," Fëanor said, untying his apron and moving to hang it on a hook.  "I trust your journey home was safe and uneventful."

"There was nothing of note to report."

Fëanor turned to face Fingolfin, who hesitated.  It was easy to hug Lalwen and Hador after a separation.  Or, really, at any time at all.

Nothing was ever easy with Fëanor.

When Fëanor did not say anything immediately, Fingolfin looked for a safe topic while he tried to determine his brother's mood.  As he did so, his eyes fell upon Fëanor's forearm.

"He really did put his name on you?" Fingolfin said in surprise.  It wasn't Hador's name but his emblem, which was boldly displayed just below the crook of Fëanor's elbow.  It was bright with the oranges and reds of Hador's device, drawing the eye to it.

Fëanor glanced at it.  "He gave me the option of having father's emblem instead but . . . I do not think I could look upon that every day."

Approaching closer, Fingolfin looked at what he could see of the tattoo.  It was slightly stylized in the fashion of Hador's people but still Elf-like in that heraldry was an import from the Elves.  As the tattoo was all the way down Fëanor's arm and Fingolfin knew Hador had been working on Fëanor's shoulder, he wondered just how large a tattoo his brother had acquired.

"Is it finished?"

Fëanor nodded.  "You wish to see it?"

"Of course."  Curious, Fingolfin withdrew a step so he could see the full tattoo.

Fëanor hesitated for a moment, his expression even more unreadable than usual.  Before Fingolfin could question him, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

The tattoo went from just below Fëanor's elbow, up his arm, and partially over his chest.  Fingolfin has only a fleeting glimpse of the whole thing before his eyes settled on the design over Fëanor's heart.

At first, he thought it was Fëanor's emblem.  That would make sense, of course, but the colors were off.  On closer inspection, Fingolfin was shocked to see that it was actually his own emblem that his brother had chosen to tattoo over his heart.

"Is that . . .?" Fingolfin couldn't believe it, even though it couldn't be anything else.

Unthinking, he reached out to trace the lines of the device.  His brother shivered at the touch, covering Fingolfin's hand with his own.

Fingolfin's eyes finally snapped up to meet his brother's, his expression no doubt telegraphing his shock and confusion.

His shock wasn't helped any by seeing an uncertain look pass over his brother's face.  His brother was many things but uncertain was not one Fingolfin would ever use to describe him.

"Hador asked me long ago -- back when we were first courting him -- how you and I had come to be together.  He knew our history, and he said it was strange that given that we should end up as lovers.  I told him about Linaewen.  You remember?"

Fingolfin gave a humorless snort.  "Yes, I remember."  How could he forget?  His eyes drifted over Fëanor's chest to the large scar still prominently evident.  The wound had almost killed him.  Fingolfin had arrived across the Helcaraxë to find his brother barely clinging to life and Maedhros taken captive.

By the time Fëanor was well enough to know what was going on, Fingon had retrieved Maedhros and begun reconciling their peoples.  But it hadn't healed the anger simmering in Fingolfin for being abandoned and for the losses suffered over the ice.  Fëanor's fiery spirit had not been tempered either, and he was anxious to again try a useless assault upon Thangorodrim, even though he knew it was folly.  He admitted that he had foreseen that no power of the Noldor would overthrow those peeks but that had not stopped him.

A reckoning was due.  Fëanor had agreed to finally settle matters between them, and it was decided it must be in private.  Maedhros and Fingon had feared a fight, and would not let them go until they had surrendered all their weapons.

Their fears were not unfounded.  Fëanor and Fingolfin had made the trek to the lake of Linaewen in silence, but once there, both had finally given voice to every grievance in their hearts.  Fingolfin had grown so frustrated with his brother's obstinate attitude, and lost his temper completely.

Shouting had turned to blows.  They had punched and wrestled and pummeled, purging everything in a wild clash of wills.  It was messy and painful and cathartic, and suddenly they were no longer fighting but kissing.

"I was thinking about the moment everything changed for us," Fëanor said softly.  "I remember what I said after I kissed you the first time.  I said I wanted you."

"Yes, and I told you if that was the issue, it was one you could have remedied centuries ago," Fingolfin said.  He remembered grabbing his brother by the hair and hauling him down for another kiss to finally shut him up.

"I said I wanted you," Fëanor repeated, tone sober.  "I never said I loved you."

At his words, Fingolfin stiffened.  He would have removed his hand but Fëanor's hold remained firm.  "We don't communicate," Fëanor said.  "We never have.  At Linaewen, we were resolved to vent everything and neither of us restrained our tongues, and even then, I kept things inside.  We have been together for four and a half centuries, and still I never know what to say to you.  I don't know how to open my heart for you.  After all this time, I wonder if I ever will.  You are the only person I cannot speak openly to.  The words are never there.  Not even for me."

Fëanor's hand relaxed marginally, just enough to let his fingers slide over Fingolfin's skin.  "Ever since Hador asked about us, I have been thinking on this.  I have been thinking about what it is I want."

"And it's a tattoo?" Fingolfin asked, knowing that wasn't the answer.

"The tattoo is a representation.  You wondered that I would let Hador leave a permanent mark upon my body and not manage the outcome with the same attention to detail that I do my own creations.  But, I couldn't do that.  This mark upon my skin was out of my control, just as the mark you have left upon my soul is out of my control.  You are a part of me.  I am done pretending otherwise."

"Fëanor . . ." Fingolfin didn't know what to say to that.

Shaking his head, Fëanor said, "My intention was to reflect upon my body what is in my soul."  He glanced at his shoulder.  "Hador may have run away with the idea."

Fingolfin gave a little laugh, utterly astounded at what Fëanor revealed.  He finally looked at the rest of the tattoo, and Fëanor let him withdraw his hand to see the whole thing.

The tattoo looked like intertwining branches or vines.  It did not fully cover Fëanor in a sleeve the way Fingolfin had seen some of Hador's folk.  There was space between the branches to show leaves and flowers.  Hador and Fingolfin's emblems looked like fruit hanging from the vines.

From a distance, it looked elegant and Elf-like.  But from so close, Fingolfin could see that the vines were not organic.  Hador had added little gears, springs, and sprockets like the ones Fëanor had begun to use in some of his newest creations.  The flowers looked like they were jewels growing from a bed of intricate machinery.

"The detail is incredible."

"I had no doubt Hador would rise to the challenge but I admit the final design isn't what I expected," Fëanor said.

"Is that bad?" Fingolfin asked.  He thought the design was actually quite fitting for his brother.

Fëanor shook his head.  "I like it."

Tentatively, Fingolfin let his fingers follow the lines of the tattoo.  He was more aware of the skin the tattoo was painted on this time and the way Fëanor responded to his touch.

"I think we should learn to communicate better," Fingolfin said softly.  His eyes flashed up to meet his brother's gaze.  "It would be nice if we didn't need something like this to do that, but I do appreciate it.  You know me and tattoos."

"I do," Fëanor said.  He reached out to let his fingers slide through Fingolfin's hair.  Fingolfin let himself be pulled close, finally getting his welcoming kiss.

The sound of the door opening to the top of the stairs made them both pull back to see who it was.  Hador appeared soon after, offering a large smile when he saw Fingolfin.

"You're back!"

Fëanor quickly relinquished his hold so Hador could grab Fingolfin in a hearty bear hug and kiss him soundly.

"We've missed you, my lord," Hador said when he pulled back, his smile undimmed.

Fingolfin returned his smile.  "As I have missed you.  I am very glad to be home."

Hador finally glanced over at Fëanor, noting he was bare-chested.  His grin turned mischievousness.  "Admiring my handiwork?"

"Indeed.  Fëanor was just showing it to me.  It's quite beautiful."

"Thank you.  I was quite pleased with the end result," Hador said.  His expression turned sly.  "Did he show you the other tattoo?"

"Other tattoo?" Fingolfin asked, looking at his brother.

Casually, Fëanor slipped his shirt back over his head.  "It's not something I could show you here.  It wouldn't be appropriate."

Fingolfin's eyebrow shot up.  "It wouldn't?  Why?"

"Because I talked your brother into something scandalous.  At least, scandalous for you Elves," Hador said with a little laugh.  He let his hand slide over Fingolfin's chest.  "You're covered in travel dust, my lord.  Why don't we all retire to the private royal baths?  You can get quite the eyeful there."

Fingolfin met Fëanor's eyes, his expression again curious and surprised.  Fëanor's expression was neutral but his eyes had a bit of shared mischief.  "That sounds like an excellent idea."  He gestured to the staircase.  "Shall we?"

With Hador on one side and Fëanor on the other, Fingolfin let himself be drawn along.  A bath with his lovers sounded like an excellent welcome home.

**Author's Note:**

> The healing tattoos were inspired by Ötzi the Iceman's tattoos.


End file.
